


a fool of death

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Banshee Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Jaskier isn't human, and Geralt knew from the start.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 27
Kudos: 1185





	a fool of death

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Jaskier knew, early on, that he was… _different_. He didn’t know how, of course, beyond the fact he knew most boys weren’t so strongly drawn to poetry. And that he talked too much; a fact he was constantly reminded of. But there was something else underneath that, something deeper and almost suffocating. But he could never put his finger on it and, after a while, he stopped trying.

He went through life without thinking too much about it. Occasionally the feeling would pop up again, just as suffocating as he remembered.

Usually it would happen out of the blue; he’d get this weird heaviness in his stomach and the back of his throat would itch, like there was something he needed to say but he didn’t know what. The feeling never lingered for too long, though, so he tried not to worry about it.

When he turned seventeen, he tracked down a sorceress and asked her about it. She didn’t have any real answers, just looked him and down and said, “Huh.”

Jaskier didn’t try _that_ again; it was obviously a waste of time. And his life was good. _Really_. He was making a name for himself as a traveling bard, and he was known across the Continent for his songs and his lively personality, two things he prided himself on.

He loved meeting new people and talking their ears off, and with his bit of fame came people actually willing to listen. He should’ve been happy, but there was always something missing.

Jaskier assumed he would never have answers. He was prepared for that, but then —

He meet _him_. The infamous Butcher of Blaviken.

Geralt _felt_ Jaskier before he saw him. He was in a tavern, tucked away in the corner, with some bard playing when his medallion started trembling. He reached up and cupped it in his hand, suddenly alert. He looked around but there were no monsters in sight.

He frowned, unsure of what to expect, but then — the bard was approaching him, and his medallion shook harder. Geralt was surprised, to say the least.

“Hello,” the man greeted; he was young with light skin and dark hair. His eyes sparkled. “Mind if I sit?”

Geralt was so surprised he didn’t reply. The man — the bard — must’ve misread his expression because he sat down, smiling brightly.

“Your shiny swords,” he said, pointing, “the hair.” He tilted his head. “You’re the Butcher of Blaviken.”

Geralt finally snapped back to reality. He snarled, looking down. He wished, suddenly, that he hadn’t finished his beer. Jaskier waved at one of the servers. “Two beers, please,” he said, and she scurried off. He turned back to Geralt, frowning. “I’m sorry if I offended,” he said, sounding sincere. “Your… name is Geralt, right?”

He looked up. He wasn’t used to apologies; he rarely got them. “Um.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

Jaskier smiled again, bright as the sun. He extended a hand. He had thin fingers, and his fingertips were surprisingly calloused, probably from years of playing. Geralt never shook hands, but one look at Jaskier’s earnest grin and he decided he could make an exception just this one time. He took his hand, shaking lightly.

“Jaskier,” he said. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Geralt knew he should proceed with caution — his medallion was still trembling — but not only did Jaskier look innocent enough Geralt couldn’t _feel_ any ill will radiating off him. He was all bright grins and sparkly eyes. It was… _odd_.

“You’re not scared of me?” he asked, treading lightly.

Because if he was a monster, and he knew Geralt _hunted_ monsters, he should be scared, right? It was the logical conclusion, at least.

But Jaskier just tilted his head, curious and sweet. “No?” he said, sounding unsure of himself. “I don’t think half the rumors about you are true, anyway.” He smiled. “I’m a bard; I know how easily stories can get twisted, dear Witcher.”

Jaskier had expected, at most, to visit with Geralt for the night, perhaps hear some of his greatest stories. But he ended up following him, out of town, the next morning. He felt like it was what he was meant to do. Geralt surprisingly didn’t protest but he also wasn’t at all cuddly. He moved fast on the back of his horse, Roach, never looking back.

Thankfully, Jaskier had healthy legs from traveling for so long without a horse or a wagon.

He followed him through the woods, strumming his lute and humming, already thinking of his next song.

When Geralt stopped, he shifted on his feet, “What is it?” he asked, eyes darting around. “A monster?”

Geralt looked mildly amused as he answered, “The sun is going down,” he said, pointing at the sky. “I’m resting for the night.”

Jaskier stood out of the way and watched, biting the inside of his cheek, as Geralt pulled a blanket out of his saddlebags and placed it on the ground over dirt. Finally, it was too much and he found himself asking, “Do you usually sleep in the woods?”

“Not always,” Geralt answered gruffly. He turned away and started building a fire. “But often.”

Jaskier shuffled on his feet. “Do you have friends or family?” he asked, because he was an idiot.

Geralt tensed, hands stilling for a moment. He let out a sharp breath and started moving again. “No.”

“Oh,” he breathed, feeling unexpectedly sad. “It’s okay,” he said, sitting down on the blanket without asking. Geralt looked at him from over his shoulder, an almost amused quirk to his lips, but he didn’t say anything. “I don’t have any friends either. I grew up an orphan in this small town — you’ve probably never even heard of it — and so I don’t have family either. I was always on my own. Never — ”

“Do you usually talk so much?” he interrupted without looking.

Jaskier looked down, fidgeting with a random twig. “Kind of, yeah,” he answered. “It’s a problem.”

“Hmm,” he replied, turning away once the fire was high. “Are you hungry?”

Jaskier flicked the twig away. “Um. Sure?”

Geralt nodded and pulled a sword out of his bag. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh. Right.” Jaskier nodded. For some reason the back of his throat was itching again. He swallowed, hard, ignoring it. “I’ll be here.”

Geralt was not usually a fan of travel companions, excluding Roach, his oldest and dearest friend, but he found himself not minding Jaskier’s company. He did talk _a lot,_ but for the most part he didn’t expect Geralt to reply, just rambled almost to himself as they traveled through woods and towns. He talked like he was going to drop dead if he stopped.

His medallion never stopped trembling when Jaskier was near. He tried asking Jaskier about it, abstractly, but the bard always looked at him oddly.

It was fair to say the bard did not know he wasn’t human.

He didn’t seem to have any powers, but he did have a knack for knowing when Geralt should tread carefully. Once, he accepted a job from one of the locals and Jaskier stopped him before he left, gripping his arm. He had an almost wild look in his eyes. “Don’t get distracted,” he said, an odd tilt to his voice, “Watch your surroundings.”

Geralt stared at him, considering the warning. Before he could reply, Jaskier blinked and released his arm. He looked confused himself.

“Sorry, uh.” He took a step back, cheeks pink. “Just be safe, okay?”

Geralt had nodded and left, and during a fight with a werewolf had almost gotten impaled by a Kikimore, who had crawled out of a nearby swamp without him noticing. He barely missed it and wandered back to the inn, covered in guts and considering Jaskier’s warning more closely. When he opened the door, Jaskier jumped up from the bed, looking relieved. “You’re okay.”

He thought about saying something, but he didn’t. “Yeah,” he said, smiling briefly. “I’m okay.”

Jaskier ended up traveling with Geralt a lot. Weeks turned to months turned to years. Two years, to be exact. He was happy, the happiest he’d ever been. He suspected Geralt felt similarly (even if he’d never say it in so many words).

He continued having _The Problem_ , his throat felt especially itchy before Geralt went on hunts, but it was nothing he couldn’t brush off. Normally, he’d just see Geralt off at the door and sometimes he’d feel the urge to warn him. “Always so cryptic,” Geralt would say, but there was something about the quirk of his lips that made Jaskier feel like he knew something he didn’t.

He pointedly never mentioned any of it, afraid Geralt — even being a monster hunter — would think he was out of his mind. Jaskier had other things to focus on, anyway.

Like his music and reputation. He continued to be the life of the party and banquets. He constructed new songs, mostly about Geralt. Geralt was beginning to be revered by the Continent; he was, for lack of a better word, a hero.

Geralt pretended to be annoyed by it, but Jaskier knew better.

“You should be thanking me,” he said as they traveled through a thick forest. “I’ve saved your reputation.”

Geralt snorted, looking at him with something akin to fondness and amusement, rolled together. Jaskier’s heart fluttered at the sight. “I’ve saved your life more than once,” he remarked, looking away again. “I think that counts.”

Jaskier placed a hand over his chest, willing his heart to stop. “Um. Yes, okay. Fair enough.”

It was just a few days later, while they were sleeping on the forest floor, curled together for warmth on the blanket, that Jaskier realized he was _in love_ with Geralt of Rivia. It had been slow building for so long that he wasn’t even shocked, really. It was like his brain had been waiting for the moment he connected the dots.

He smiled, small, and closed his eyes.

Geralt wiggled closer and slung an arm over him. Jaskier’s heart did something funny, as it was prone to do around the other man. There was nothing odd about sharing heat during the night — they’d been doing it for months now — but this was a new development. Jaskier didn’t open his eyes. “Geralt?” he asked softly.

“Hmm,” he replied. “ _Sleep_.”

Jaskier smiled wider, turning to bury his face in Geralt’s shoulder.

Geralt never took Jaskier on hunts with him if he could help it. _Yes_ , he was obviously inhuman but he just as obviously did not know that. So even if he _did_ have powers, he had no control over them. But traveling through the woods sometimes meant monsters attacked without warning. He had lucked out for the most part, but eventually his luck would end and —

Well, today was that day. Well, technically it was _night_. The sky was dark and Jaskier rode on the back of Roach as they traveled, looking for a good resting spot.

He heard them before he saw them: ghouls. He slowed to a stop, and Jaskier peeked over his shoulder.

“Wh — ”

Geralt knocked back against him, “Shh.”

Ghouls usually stayed near graveyards or burial grounds or even, occasionally, fresh battlefields. Geralt didn’t know what they were doing here, but frankly it didn’t matter. He hoped to turn Roach the other way without them noticing but then — he heard them; scurrying closer. He jumped off, grabbing his sword, and knocked Roach with his shoulder.

“ _Go!_ ” he shouted, and Roach took off.

The ghouls appeared and Geralt cursed under his breath; there were dozens of them. They weren’t exceptionally powerful, but they were resilient and moved in packs for a reason. He started to swing, taking them down.

But more and more appeared, too fast. One attacked his shoulder, sending him stumbling back. His sword fell out of his hand, spun a few feet away. Geralt pushed the ghoul off just to be attacked by others, pulling him to their level. He fell on the ground with a huff and threw his arms up to protect his face, an instinct, but it was pointless — if they bit him, he would need help Jaskier didn’t even know how to find.

But then he heard —

He looked over, through the darkness, and saw Jaskier, standing a few feet away with Roach.

“Get out of here!” he shouted, but Jaskier firmly shook his head and opened his mouth, and _screamed_.

Geralt let out a howl of pain — the scream was inhuman, deafening and high-pitched. The ghouls scurried back, cowering. Jaskier screamed and _screamed_ , and didn’t stop. Even Roach ran off. Geralt covered his ears and watched, mostly awed, as the ghouls turned and moved, in a pack, back into the woods.

Jaskier did not stop. His eyes were squeezed shut, hands curled, screaming like he was dying.

Like _Geralt_ was dying. “Fuck,” he whispered, finally understanding. He climbed to his feet and ran over, and fucking threw his arms around Jaskier. The bard startled, opening his eyes. Finally, he stopped. Geralt pulled him closer, burying his face in his hair. “You’re a — _fuck_.”

“You’re okay,” Jaskier said, burying his own face against Geralt’s chest. “You’re _okay_. Thank the Gods.”

Geralt pulled back, and looked at Jaskier, _really_ looked. Jaskier sniffed. “No,” he said. “That had nothing to do with any Gods.” He reached up, slow, and brushed a thumb over Jaskier’s cheek. “Jaskier, you have no fucking idea what you are,” he breathed. It wasn’t a question, but he still added, “Do you?”

Jaskier sniffed again. “No,” he admitted, suddenly slumping against Geralt. “But can it wait?”

Jaskier fell asleep as soon as Geralt finished spreading out the blanket. Geralt started a fire and disappeared to a nearby stream to wash off. When he returned, Jaskier was sitting up, staring at the fire. Geralt slowly approached, still dripping wet.

“You knew this whole time, didn’t you?” he asked softly, never looking away from the fire. Geralt winced as he sat near him. He didn’t sound angry, at least.

“I didn’t know… _what_ you were,” he admitted, honestly. “But I knew you weren’t human.”

Jaskier glanced at him finally. “How?”

Geralt extended a hand. Jaskier stared at it for a moment before placing his hand in it. Slowly, he brought Jaskier’s hand up to the medallion around his neck. Jaskier startled when he felt it.

“Wh — why is it doing that?” he asked curiously.

Geralt released his hand and sighed, “The medallion warns me when supernaturals are near.”

“Oh,” he said. “Um.” Jaskier looked away again. Geralt wanted to reach out to him; he retrained, for the moment. “I think I kind of always knew,” he said, a quiet admission. “I mean, I knew there was something… _wrong_ with me — ”

Geralt frowned. “There isn’t,” he interrupted firmly. Jaskier looked at him. “I mean that.”

Jaskier smiled, slow. “I don’t, um — ” he cleared his throat. “I don’t even know what I am.”

Geralt had almost forgotten. He scooted closer, their thighs pressing together. Jaskier didn’t pull away, he noticed idly, filing that information away for later. It wasn’t important; he had more pressing matters to deal with. “You’re a banshee,” he explained, and Jaskier’s mouth curled in amusement.

“Really?” he asked. “Of all the things?”

Geralt shushed him, rolling his eyes. “Banshees can predict death and harm.” He took a deep breath. “That’s how you always knew what to warn me of, right before I went on hunts. Jaskier, you’ve probably saved my life more than once.”

Jaskier chewed on the inside of his cheek. “So… I can predict death and scream? Yup, sounds amazing.”

“It — ” Geralt swallowed the word. “ _You_ are amazing, Jaskier.”

Jaskier looked at him. “You honestly think that? Aren’t you supposed to kill monsters?”

Geralt smiled, a small quirk of his lips. He reached down and grabbed one of Jaskier’s hands. “Yes,” he answered, squeezing lightly. “But you are the farthest thing from a monster I’ve ever met,” he said, a little too honest. He wasn’t good at honesty, but he felt like trying — for Jaskier. “Actually, I would… like if you’d keep traveling with me.” He stopped, cleared his throat. “If that is something you’d like to — ”

“I would love that,” he interrupted breathlessly.

Geralt looked up. Jaskier’s eyes were warm and soft. “Okay,” he replied roughly. “Um. Good.”


End file.
